SIX DAYS IN ROME

Mourning the end of a relationship by taking—alone—the birthday-celebration vacation booked when she was part of a couple, a 30-something woman reaches a turning point.

In her discursive debut, Giacco introduces a self-absorbed central character whose musings and interactions during the eponymous period are offered as a life-changing pivot. Emilia has arrived in the Eternal City still under the shadow of her “past-tense love,” following the plans she and Michael had made before he revealed, after a year and a half together, that he had been married all along and now wants to give the marriage another go. Emilia believed she loved Michael but also comments: “The longer I was with him, the more uncertain I became, transforming myself accordingly. I adopted so much of what he loved and hated and rejected and valued, became some version of myself that existed in relation to him.” Now liberated from this self-subordination, she is free to wander the streets indulgently, thinking about herself, her family, her memories, her time with Michael, and her impressions of Rome (heavy on the booze, fountains, churches, olives, espressos, and pizza). Planning a picnic in a park, she bumps into attractive American architect John and quickly finds distraction from her romantic past with a new romantic present. But John has a larger function than mere lover. He asks questions about Emilia’s father—a famous singer/songwriter who of course has influenced his daughter’s attitude toward men. This burrowing will lead Emilia to acknowledgements—“You never took me seriously, I never even had a chance” (addressed both to Michael and to her father)—and new possibilities. Giacco’s slender, elegant, yet detached story assumes engagements with privileged Emilia and her point of view, yet those connections may be less than certain in a tale that seems more glossy than groundbreaking.

Upscale escapism as beautiful people in a sensuous city bare and share.